


Finding Salvation at the Bottom of a Flask

by Emilykrausjones



Category: TSC, The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, F/M, Unrequited Love, matthew deserves happiness but you won't find it here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23202568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilykrausjones/pseuds/Emilykrausjones
Summary: Cordelia Carstairs has waited her whole life to marry James Herondale, she did not imagine it would happen like this. The strange new life she has begun to build for herself seems likely to fall apart when Matthew Fairchild comes to her on the morning of her wedding with a proposition. Cordelia had never wanted to break a heart the way she had let James break hers, but if Cordelia has learned on thing during her time in the London Enclave, there is little control when it comes to matters of the heart.
Relationships: Cordelia Carstairs/James Herondale, Cordelia Carstairs/Matthew Fairchild
Comments: 21
Kudos: 65





	Finding Salvation at the Bottom of a Flask

**Author's Note:**

> this took me too long to write, but here it is in all its unedited angsty glory. 
> 
> i wrote it based on the teaser #5 cc posted, you’ll find that exact line in the text! that is the only writing that is not my own besides the flashback to the convo in the whispering room which all belong to cc :^) (pls don’t sue me, cc)
> 
> this fic would not exist without the help of @stcrgirls and her perfectly distressing theories!
> 
> enjoy xx

Cordelia Carstairs sat in front of her mirror as Risa, her maid, arranged her hair exactly to Anna Lightwood’s, who had been all too happy to help with every aspect of Cordelia’s appearance, specifications. It was the sky over the Thames at sunset, a shock of red against the gold of her dress, a confection of draping fabric and beadwork and details so finely crafted Cordelia almost felt guilty wearing it. Lucie Herondale, her _parabatai_ would be there to help her with gauzy gold _roosari_ that would complete Cordelia’s ensemble. Cordelia had always wanted a traditional Persian wedding, and James had been more than happy to agree, fascinated by every aspect of the ceremony.

Cordelia felt beautiful and all together miserable. She was marrying the love of her life and the thought sent ice water through her veins at the same time butterflies fluttered in her belly. If she had thought love was a simple matter when she was a girl who only knew it through books, this had taught her that love and heartbreak were old friends, one not too far from the other at any given time. She had simply wished that the person she would marry would be as consumed in the ricochet of emotions as her.

The door opened with a creak and Cordelia’s mother, Sona, came into the room. Her belly was swollen large and she rested her hands on her bump, touching it absently. It would not be long until Cordelia met her newest sibling. It was thrilling and terrifying, to know a new life would be fresh in this world, a clean slate, that so much of the world was cruel and unforgiving, that so much of it was intoxicating and exquisite. She wanted to protect the child and wanted it to feel all the world had to offer. She had never had the experience of being an older sibling, a protector. She wondered if this was how Alistair felt, what guided him and Sona in every choice when it came to telling her the truth about her father. She wanted them to know she understood, that she would do the same for this new child.

“Oh, Layla,” Sona said, her voice breathless and edged with a hint of tiredness that had not left her since her pregnancy. “ _Joon_ you look beautiful.”

Cordelia could feel tears prickle the back of her eyes, though she forced them down, she did not want tear tracks on her face. She did not know if she would stop once she started. She and Sona had struggled with their relationship for so long, with the secrets Sona carried and the weight of expectation that those burdens had put on Cordelia. Now Sona, who still seemed frail in the last months of her pregnancy, had become the mother Cordelia had always longed for. To have her mother tell her that she looked lovely on her wedding day, to have her replace a stray curl that slipped from its pin and to rub the pad of her thumb over her daughters cheek. It pinched at Cordelia’s heart. She had everything she had always wanted, though it was all an illusion, smoke and mirrors. All her happiness depended on a lie, and the heartbreak that would follow if the truth was revealed would send her illusionary life crashing to the ground. She had to protect those she loved from the trouble she had created.

“Maman, please do not cry,” said Cordelia, taking her mother’s small hands into her own, cradling them as carefully as she cradled her own breaking heart. She wanted to bury herself in her mother’s arms, wanted to worm her way into her lap and tell her everything, how it was all fake and that her chest always ached and her eyes always felt swollen and her heart was tattered. How she would still suffer all of it to be with James. But Cordelia smiled, and if she at first had thought faking happiness would bring it to her, she knew she was wrong. So few were willing to look beyond a smile, to see everything it covered like poorly reconstructed china. But it was not her mother’s job to carry this burden with her, she already had too much, this would only add stress and heartbreak. “You will make me cry and I am exceedingly happy. I shall have everything I want and a husband who loves me.” The lie coated her tongue with a bitter taste, but she smiled. And she would smile even as she let James break her heart again and again as gently as the hand he brushed her hair back with.

Sona smiled, it had the watery quality of the truly exhausted. “I know, Cordelia _joon._ I only wish it had not been chosen for you.”

Cordelia’s back stiffened. “It was not chosen for me, every choice was my own,” she said. “I know how the rest of the Clave whispers about me, and I know they will continue, but I do not care for their good opinion. I have friends, my _parabatai,_ you and Alistair.” _Father_ , she thought briefly, but she did not know how he would feel about the circumstances of their marriage. She did not know how to find her father in the husk of a man that remained, if she ever would. “I have all I need, why is that not enough?”

Sona grasped at Cordelia’s hand that still held hers. “It does. I should not have said anything,” Sona began. “I only worry. But you are to be married, running your own home, I cannot tell you what to do anymore. Besides, the Herondale’s are good people, a bit odd, but I know they will protect you where we cannot.”

“I do not need protecting, Mother. I have done nothing I would not do again.” Cordelia heard Tessa Herondale’s words, _the most interesting women are always the most whispered about._ The thought always brought great comfort to Cordelia, it made her feel daring, a bit like Anna. Anna would not let rumors dictate her emotions, she would craft them into legend. “Let us be happy, do we not deserve it? After all that has happened, I do not want anymore suffering.”

“Of course not,” Sona said fiercely. “There is no one more deserving of happiness than you, my dear Cordelia.”

Just then the door opened and Tessa Herondale’s face peered around the door until it lit into a radiant smile when she landed on Cordelia. “Oh!” Tessa stepped into the room, her hands clutched to her chest. She wore a simple but exceedingly elegant dress, the shape making her lovely and ethereal. “Cordelia, you are the most beautiful bride.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Herondale.” Cordelia could feel a flush of delight spread over her cheeks. The Herondale’s had been more than welcoming, and even as the guilt ate away at her, a worm at the center of an apple, Cordelia could not help but bask in their love. Will and Tessa Herondale seemed to have more than enough to go around.

“I almost forgot why I was here,” Tessa said, turning to Sona. Tessa and Sona had been running around the institute making sure all was in order. “Sona, I was hoping you could help me with a few last minute details. I want to make sure we have everything we need for the _Aghd.”_

 _Aghd_ was a Persian wedding ceremony. Cordelia would walk to James, Lucie guiding her way with _esfand_ , an incense which was said in Persian tradition to ward off the evil eye, seated on a bench waiting for her to sit by his side. Lucie and the other unmarried ladies of the Clave would hold the white fabric of the canopy above them as their parents and other happily married couples would grind sugar cones to be caught in the canopy. It was was a tradition that literally sprinkled the couple in sweetness. It was magical and romantic, like sitting under a cherry blossom tree as the petals fell around you. She had pictured this very thing, her sitting under the canopy being rained on by sugar and well wishes, with James by her side. She almost laughed at how fate had given her exactly what she wanted and nothing at all.

“Of course,” Sona said. She turned to Cordelia, her face searching her daughters. She nodded, a small gesture, simply for herself. “Take this moment of peace, Layla,” her mother smiled at her. “It will be a very long day, you will want a moment to yourself.”

Cordelia only squeezed her mother’s hand as she went to meet Tessa at the door.

“I already think of you as a daughter, Cordelia,” Tessa said, her voice quiet as it always was, but not lacking in presence. When Tessa spoke there was a gentle command to her, she was never to be mistaken for meek. Cordelia envied it. “But it brings me joy to know that you will be my daughter in earnest. _Parabatai_ of Lucie, wife of Jamie. I do not suppose in-laws can be any closer.” Tessa smiled and Cordelia basked in the warmth of it like a kitten in a patch of sun. “I will see you soon, dear Cordelia.”

With a quick farewell they were gone. Cordelia felt the silence of their absence like a physical thing. Her doubts came for her in the quiet, made her find every fault in her plan. She wished she had asked them to send Lucie to her room, there was no greater comfort to her than her best friend’s chatter and steady presence. She wanted to lay her head in her _parabatai_ ’s lap and listen to a new chapter of The Secret Princess Lucie or The Beautiful Cordelia. Anything to not be left with her thoughts.

She got up, determined to seek out Lucie, or at least a book, for some companionship. The door handle turned just as she reached to touch it. Jumping in alarm, Cordelia stepped back as the door was pushed slowly open. There was a moment where she thought _Lucie must have known I needed her._ But Lucie did not gently push doors open, she always entered in a flurry of excitement unless it was dreadful news she brought with her.

A golden head appeared around the corner of the door. Matthew Fairchild looked around her room, taking in the heavy wood furniture that was in all the Institute rooms, the cluttered vanity. “Ah, good, you’re alone.” He walked fully into the room, his suit an elegantly absurd cut of rich black velvet and golden silk so creamy Cordelia wished she could touch it.

“Matthew!” Cordelia said, her hands coming to her chest as though she could keep her heart from leaping through her ribcage. She moved back to the vanity table, sitting heavily on the bench, her dress a cacophony of sound from the intricate bead work of her gown. “What are you doing here? If you are caught in my room it will do more than cause a shock, it could ruin everything.”

He leaned against the unlit hearth, his long limbs crossing languidly. Cordelia wondered how much work went into looking so effortless, she wished he did not have to act at indifference around her. They were friends, she did not want her friends to be anything other than what they were. But she supposed Matthew was as much an actor as he was a Shadowhunter. “Do not fret a pretty hair on your head,” he said to her, his face lighting with a wicked smirk. “I told them I had come at Jame’s request, and your mother cannot seem to say no to him, even through proxy.” His smile was blithe and his eyes bleary with whatever he had stashed away in his flask, Cordelia knew. Still, his presence was a comfort for Cordelia who was sure to have driven herself mad before she ever saw the isle. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Cordelia’s brows furrowed, she had a terrible many thoughts running through her mind at that moment, she couldn’t seem to puzzle out what would make Matthew barge into her room on her wedding day. But it must be important, and Matthew had seemed like a less vibrant version of himself lately, Cordelia thought, as if whatever flame was constantly sparking within him had dimmed. If he needed to unburden himself, as guarded as he was, she would not turn him away when he was finally reaching out. And if she wondered why he would not choose to speak with James, she was not going to voice it out loud. “Matthew,” she started. “What is it? Please, sit and talk with me, it must be weighing heavy on you and I shall do whatever I can to help if it is in my power.”

Matthew sauntered, for there was no other way to describe the sway in his stride any other way, towards her. He sat on the edge of her bed, fiddling with the cuff of his suit jacket, though it was meticulously cut and perfectly in place. He was nervous, she realized, his tumble of tawny hair falling roguishly in his face. She wished she was able to read his expression, but what little was exposed was carefully arranged. “Matthew, what is wrong? Is it James?” Suddenly Cordelia was convinced James had sent Matthew to tell her he could not marry her. Maybe Grace had realized she would not be happy with Charles, called off their engagement, and had told James she would marry him. Maybe now he planned to marry who he had truly loved. There was a terrible ache in her chest, a chasm opening like a yawn, and she wished terribly to have Cortana in her hand. To smash through the vanity that spat her reflection back at her like a taunt or to simply cradle to her chest like a comfort blanket, she wasn’t sure.

“What?” Matthew’s eyes grew owlishly large and then realization dawned. “Oh, no,” he began. “No, he does not know I am here, in fact.”

“Oh,” said Cordelia. She only grew more puzzled. What was he doing here? “Matthew, you can tell me what is bothering you, I can see this is something you’re struggling with.”

He looked at her then, and his eyes were green and bright as spring. “Cordelia,” he started. Matthew seemed to take her in, the gold of her gown, how it was different from any wedding dress he had ever seen, the elaborate gathering of her red hair. His eyes caught on the daisy that was pinned behind her ear. It was with a violent sort of desperation that he looked at her before he stood suddenly, his limbs less elegant in their scramble. “I must go.”

Cordelia sprang to her feet, her skirts heavy and cumbersome, but she was quick. She cut off his retreat. “You seek me out on my wedding day, you do not tell James that something is bothering you, and now you try to leave?” She crossed her arms over her chest. She would not let him go knowing that something was wrong. How could she call herself his friend? How could she love James and not protect what he loved most. “I shall not let you pass until you tell me what on earth is wrong, Matthew.”

A quick flash of frustration lit his eyes. “By the Angel, you are holding me prisoner to talk about my feelings?”

“Yes,” said Cordelia with a stubborn tilt to her chin. “Now speak or I shall be late for my own wedding and poor James will think I have left him at the alter.”

It was as if she had slapped him, his head jerked back and Cordelia had the sudden urge to apologize, but she did not know what for. Matthew’s hand went to the small pocket in his suit jacket, the green carnation he wore with a quiet pride a sharp contrast to the black fabric. “Just a nip,” said Matthew, his silver flask palmed in his hand.

“Matthew…” Cordelia started.

“I do not need a lecture, Cordelia,” said Matthew. “I need salvation.”

He tipped the flask to his lips and pulled heavily. How much had he already had today, Cordelia wondered. He was so good at hiding. Hiding being drunk, hiding the pain that tore at him like claws. She did not know how to help him, she did not know if anyone could. “There is no salvation at the bottom of that flask, I suspect all you will find is a headache.”

Her tone was harsher than she intended, but seeing him stand in front of her, his fair hair dashingly tangled, how he smelled of the bite of the London autumn outside and warm brandy, she could not help but see her father. Had he once simply been a troubled boy who took to spirits when his soul felt too heavy? When did boyish pleasure turn to dependency?

Cordelia wished she could reason with him, but you cannot reason where desperation was concerned. She would beg on her knees, she would rip the silly flask from his hands and fling it in the fire, rip it to ribbons with the blade of Cortana, if she thought it would help him. But she knew it would make no difference. Hadn’t Sona and Alistair done just that for Elias? She would not fool herself into thinking she would be the one to save a man who was determined to drowned. But she was foolish enough to throw kisbee ring after kisbee ring into the water.

“Oh, Daisy. I see how you look at me and I wish I could change your mind, but you’re surprisingly stubborn. It would be most alluring if it wasn’t so vexing.” Cordelia found that she did not mind being considered vexing, it felt forbidden and daring. A bit like Lucie’s story version of Cordelia, more brazen and captivating. 

“How do I look at you?” Asked Cordelia.

Matthew sighed and shook his head in solemn theatricality. “You look at me with pity and I cannot bear to be pitied, it’s terrible for my complexion.”

“I would not pity you if you let me in,” Cordelia said, not bother to deny it. “But you leave me no choice, I must assume it is a terrible pain you carry and wield like a blade, and that is pitiable, to not let anyone help shoulder that load with you. You are punishing yourself, though I do not understand why.” It felt good to have said it out loud, to tell Matthew of her fears for him, the fears she saw mirrored in all their friends eyes.

He blinked at her, it seemed that she was always able to shock the seemingly unshakable Matthew Fairchild. He smiled then, the smile that could get him anything, that felt like warm spring days and lazy afternoons in the park. He was golden sunsets and green lawns. All of his sharp edges seemed to melt away when he smiled, it was boyish glee, the simplicity of childhood.“Do not marry James.”

His smile cracked under the pressure of her silence like ice. Cordelia struggled for words, if her life felt complicated before, it was impossible now. “What?”

“Marry me,” Matthew said.

Cordelia sat back down on the bench in front of her vanity, the shock of his words making her legs feel strange and jelly-like.She felt dizzy and the weight of her gown was too heavy even as she was seated, like the earth was trying to pull her under. “What are you doing?”

“I love you.” It was simple, as though he said he drank water or ate food or spent two hours on his hair.

“Matthew, no.”

“I am not anywhere near the man James is, but I would at least love you, and perhaps you could learn to love me in time, most people find me quite charming when I’m not being insufferable.”

“I-” Cordelia wondered for a moment if she was in a different realm. Had she cut through any Portals recently that would send her to another dimension where her future fake husband’s _parabatai_ proposed to her on her wedding day?

Matthew stood from the bed and came to kneel in front of Cordelia where she sat at her vanity. He took her hand, it was warm and calloused and she could see where the _parabatai_ rune peeked out from the sleeve of his suit. “Do we not make a certain kind of sense, Cordelia? You want _more_ from life, I can tell because I want those things too. I see it in you the way I see it in Anna, in myself. We are not meant for the mundanity of marriage. Will you truly be happy keeping house and pretending at happiness with James who you do not love? If we were to marry, your reputation would be restored but you would not be confined to doilies and picking out curtain rods. I can show you the world as you can only imagine it, I would never limit you. I can introduce you to artist who paint as vividly as you dream, poets who will recite words your heart did not know it longed for. I saw how you danced that night at the Hell Ruelle, I know that you are not simply just a lady or a Shadowhunter, you are a dreamer. An artist. Our souls are not so different, they long for things we know we should not want. And I know I should not want you, but I do. We could live as if our life was a story, and I do know how much you love stories. Besides, I look dashing in formal wear.”

“Matthew, please. I do not know what to say.” She thought of her parents, how she had thought their marriage was normal, she had so few examples of what partnership was. She knew that Will and Tessa Herondale loved differently, but their love had almost been a thing of fiction to Cordelia. People did not love the way those two loved, even if when Cordelia saw them together she had craved only that for her life. But Sona and Elias, now with the hindsight only growing up can give, she knew that they were not happy. That Elias was drinking away demons that plagued his soul and Sona scrambled to keep their family together, unharmed. That Alistair had to play at being the man of the house because their father could not even rise from bed most days. They were not a marriage of equals.

“Say yes.” He said it as though it was easy, as though it would not turn her life upside down.

She looked at him, her brows pulled together so tightly she knew she looked ridiculous. “And what of James?”

“As I said, he does not love you.” Cordelia flinched, though Matthew did not catch it, he had looked at their hands closed around each other. “And you do not love him.” He looked up at her through soft lashes, a shock of green surrounded by golden fringe. “He is my _parabatai_ and your friend, he will be happy that we are happy.”

Cordelia threw her hands up, her head ached from the pins in her hair and the ridiculous boy in front of her. “How do you know that he will not be humiliated? The shame of his fiancée leaving him for his _parabatai_ , it would give the Clave more to gossip about. And this arrangement was as much to protect James as it was to restore my reputation. If I were to call off our wedding they would look too closely at the story. If they suspect anything, it will only take the Mortal Sword to discover our falsehood.” Matthew looked away at the empty grate of the fireplace, a detached, haunted look about his face. “Matthew, he would be imprisoned. _You and I_ would be in trouble for knowing about his- visit to Blackthorn Manor.”

“You do not love me?” Asked Matthew. Cordelia felt as if she was kicking a puppy. He might as well have brought Oscar with him so she might further the pain she was causing.

“Oh, Matthew, no. No, I am not in love with you. I wish I could be. The life you envisioned for us is marvelous, but it is not my life.” There was a moment where she thought of saying yes, thought for a moment that it would be smarter to marry Matthew. Perhaps over time true feelings would bloom from the ragged scars on her heart left from loving James. Maybe then Cordelia would not hurt so badly. If she could love Matthew, if she did not love James Herondale as if her own heart did not beat to the syllables of his name, she was sure she could be happy. But, no. Still she would take the pain of loving James, having him for a whole year. She would not give Matthew false hope only to spare herself more pain. Besides, everything she said was true, she would not risk James for a hapless chance at healing her pummeled heart. “As you said,” said Cordelia, her voice steady through the pain of the lie, “James and I do not love each other, we are equals. Besides, you cannot possibly love me.”

Matthew looked indignant, his mouth pinched in frustration, like he could not think of the right words. “How could you know that? Do you suppose to know more about the contents of my own heart than I do?”

“I know what love is,” Cordelia said with surety. “And what you have for me is not true love but an idea of what love is. You say you love me because you know I will not love you back.”

He shook his head as though he wished what she said was true. It was a resigned gesture, as if there was no more he could do about it. “I am not mistaken.”

Cordelia wanted to scream in frustration or gather him into her arms and protect him from all in the world that seemed intent on harming him. She did not want to examine the affect he had on her too closely, it would only make her headache worse. “You love the idea of me, that is all. You love what you know you cannot have because you do not think you are deserving of having it. But, Matthew, you do deserve happiness. Full, unbridled happiness, but you will not find it with me.”

From his spot on the floor in front of her, unconcerned that he could be ruining the knees of his breeches, he collected her hands again, his grip almost painfully tight in the wildness of his desperation to make her understand. “How can you know for sure? You assume my motives are selfish, but loving you has made me look outside myself. No one calls me out the way you do, no one besides James has ever made me want to be a better version of myself. I am a mess, but I will do the work, I can be the man you need.”

How many different ways could your heart be broken? Cordelia was not sure, but the running tally was alarmingly high. “Matthew, my heart is not with you but with someone else.”

Cordelia had never broken someone’s heart before, there was no power in it, no rush in having so much control over how someone else felt, there was only more pain. “What? _Who?_ ”

She smiled sadly, her fingers squeezing Matthew’s in a secret solidarity, before pulling her hands back into her lap. She knitted her fingers together so she would not reach back out for him. His arms fell limply by his side. “It does not matter. I cannot give two of what I only have one of.”

“What if I just love you? What if I love you but I never touch you or talk about it, what would happen then?” He asked.

“I know what it is to love with the knowledge that it is given with no hope of reciprocation. I wish I could take it from you, know that I would, that I would take the pain and carry it as my own if I were only able. But I cannot take it, and I do not wish to cause you any more pain than I already have. I will not tell anyone,” she said. “But I will know and I cannot live with myself if I am causing you pain, Matthew.”

Matthew looked appalled. “Are you suggesting we not be friends?”

“I do not wish to hurt you,” Cordelia repeated. She did not want to cause someone to feel as she did. She thought of the Whispering Room, those moments before the cursedly wonderful minutes of having so much of James, of what James had said about faerie fruit. _They say the more you have of it, the more you want, and the more you ache when you could have no more._ She knew the danger of desire. To want and want and want. To taste the sweetness of the juice, enough to go mad, without ever being able to sink your teeth into it.

 _Is_ not _knowing its own form of torture? The torture of not knowing?_ No. She knew that is was not worth it. She had tasted the fruit, she had gone mad with it, but she could stop Matthew from suffering the same fate. She would miss his friendship, his wit and banter, his ridiculous clothing, the secret vulnerability that hid behind it all. She would do the hard thing, she would lose his friendship to save him the pain she was inflicting.“We will tell them I offended you, that you do not wish to continue with our friendship.”

Matthew laughed, there was no humor in it. “They would not believe that you wounded me enough to end our friendship! Next you will tie knives to Oscar’s paws and claim he is Jack the Ripper!”

“Of course not, all of your parents took care of that ages ago,” Cordelia said. “You will have to have said something beastly back to me so _I_ can agree that it was a mutual decision to end the friendship.”

“I do not wish to end this friendship!” Matthew lifted a ringed finger when she opened her mouth to protest. “I have come to need you in my life, Daisy. See!” He threw his arms out wide, his eyes fevered with a sincerity Matthew always over-brimmed with but tried so hard to play off. “Even I call you Daisy! You belong with us, belong in our lives, you and Lucie. It hasn’t been so _right_ for many years now. But when we were all together, we solved what even the Clave could not. Because we were all together Christopher found the cure for the demon poison that the Silent Brother _could not make_. That is something special. That might be the closest thing to art that a Shadowhunter could have. We cannot stop being friends because I am a cad who ambushed you on your wedding day. I won’t allow it.”

Cordelia drew herself up, fighting down a flutter of affection. Matthew was so vibrant when he drew the curtains back. “ _Allow it_!”

“Yes, I will be an awful bother to you, I won’t accept anything less than friendship.” He smiled and Cordelia knew that she would not say no. She would never be able to part with Matthew, with any of the Merry Thieves. They had won against a Prince of Hell because they were all together, because every single one of them made the others better. Even when Christopher was sick and quarantined in the Silent City, it was his teaching that allowed Thomas to finish what he had started. They were integral to each other in a way Cordelia did not think she could explain to anyone outside of their circle table at the Devil’s Tavern. She was too selfish to give up a single one of them.

Cordelia couldn’t help but laugh, but her chest was tight with the sort of grief you could only experience for someone who has gone through the same sort of loss as you. “Oh, I suppose I can’t argue with that. Of course I will continue to be your friend, but I do not wish to hurt you. If it becomes too much you must tell me.”

He was looking at her like a revelation. “You-” he started but stopped, and the look, the open vulnerability of his face, shuttered. “Yes, I promise.”

Cordelia hesitated for a moment, at the precipice of confessing to Matthew her true feelings, how she had always loved James. How loving him was the most painful bliss she had ever experienced. But what good would that do? It would only embarrass the both of them. “Can we still go to the Hell Ruelle with Anna? I would like to hear that poetry you spoke of.”

Matthew, who still sat with his long legs curled under him in front of Cordelia, lifted his scarred hands from his side and cupped her cheeks. Her face flushed hot, and the metal of the rings that decorated his fingers were a cool relief. There was no untowardness in the gesture, just a soft affection that Matthew reserved for the Merry Thieves and Oscar Wilde (both of the dog and artist variety). “Only if you promise to dance again.”

Cordelia smiled, but before she could open her mouth to respond the door burst open with a thunderous crash and Lucie came into the room in a flurry of fabric and ink stained hands. “Oh, Cordelia! I’m sorry I’m late, I just had the most romantic idea for The Beautiful Cordelia and I simply could not let it get away. I know-” she stopped in her tracks. Stillness was not in Lucie’s nature, and the immobility of her parabatai was startling.

It took Cordelia a moment to remember what Lucie would be seeing, Matthew cupping her face with his hands, Cordelia’s own hand spooned around his. It was a compromising position to be found in regardless of circumstance.

Matthew dropped his hands as if Cordelia had burned him. “Lucie” Matthew began, scrambling to his feet and crossing to where Lucie still stood stupefied, his hands up as if pleading innocence. “It looks far worse than it is.”

“It looks,” Lucie began, finding her words again, her blue eyes narrowed to glacial points, “as if you were embracing Cordelia on the day she is meant to be wed to my brother. Your _parabatai,_ Matthew!”

Through the entire interaction Cordelia wished the vanity mirror would break off and strike her in the head so she might forget this had happened. When no freak accident occurred, Cordelia got to her feet, her legs lead heavy. “Lucie, it wasn’t that.”

Lucie crossed her arms over chest, the freshly inked pages of her story rustling against the fine fabric of her gown. “Then what was it, Daisy? I have a very active imagination and I simply cannot help but find this to be a great betrayal to Jamie.”

Cordelia’s stomach felt as if it bottomed out, she had spent so much of her life thinking about James, how could she explain that to Lucie? That she had loved James since he was all angles and knobby knees and that she had found him beautiful even with the lankiness of adolescence. When he was shy and hid in stairwellsand behind spectacles and spoke only when he had to. “I would never hurt James, Lucie, you know that.”

Matthew added, “she ruined her reputation to save him! Why would she betray him now. Besides the marriage is not real, anyway.”

Cordelia, who did not find this to be at all helpful, shot him a withering look. “Matthew wanted to ensure I was okay. He did not want me to take cold feet and leave our James without a bride.”

Lucie looked at both of them, her keen writers eyes cataloging every detail. “So you’re not having a sordid affair behind my brothers back?”

“No!” Both Matthew and Cordelia cried.

“I am relieved,” Lucie sighed, her shoulders loosening as her hands fell to her sides in relief. Still, she shot Cordelia a look that told her that Lucie would want to talk to her alone soon. “Though it would make such a tragically romantic story, I will have to jot a note down before I forget it.”

“There,” Cordelia said, pointing towards the desk that sat in the corner of the large institute room. She had belongings of her scattered about the space, the Herondale’s kept it as her own for when she and Lucie trained together late into the night and she could not be bothered to drag her sore body back to Cornwall Gardens. A stack of stationary sat untouched on her desk, left there should she need to write a hasty letter, but mostly she kept it stocked for when Lucie had a brilliant idea for a story. “Jot it down before you help me finish getting ready.”

Her friend beamed and darted to the heavy wood desk, her small frame vibrating with excitement as she scribbled away. Cordelia looked towards Matthew and started when she found that he was already looking at her. His face was a portrait in longing, there was a wistfulness that made him seem tragic. Cordelia felt helpless, a feeling she usually combated in planning. There was always another angle to look from, a new scheme to hatch. Always. But here, looking across the room at this boy on the cusp of manhood and tragedy, she did not think there was a any amount of reworking and strategizing that would help him. “Matthew-”

“I shall see you down there, Daisy. Make sure your hem is not too long, you’re a superb dancer but an awful klutz most of the time.” He bowed loftily, a grand sweeping gesture that would have made Cordelia laugh if it hadn’t feel so final. He spun on his heels, a flash of gold and silver as he retrieved his flask.

And then he was gone, the door shutting with a muted click and leaving Cordelia in a silence so heavy it threatened to crack ribs.

“Daisy?” Lucie had come to stand beside her, thought Cordelia did not see her approach.

“Oh, Lucie. What have I done?”

**Author's Note:**

> i'll be writing the next installment where we get to actually see james and all the messiness this first encounter creates!! the angst potential really skyrockets *chefs kiss* 
> 
> if you want to see updates on the next chapter or send me prompts follow me on twt: @judeblackthornn


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